


365 Days

by freek



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Unus Annus - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Memento mori, Murder, Not Shippy, POV Second Person, Paranoia, Psychological Horror, Unus Annus, Unus and Annus as characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25764157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freek/pseuds/freek
Summary: Unus Annus has come and gone, the channel has been deleted and the videos have gone with it.Except... you saved them. You kept an archive for yourself.There will always be consequences to those who are greedy. Always.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	365 Days

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a while ago for fun, beta'd it a little bit recently, and it's completely not meant to be taken seriously. Got a bit bored n said fuck it lets write some fucked up Unus Annus shit with the concept of, "Unus Annus has ended, you kept an archive. What happens?" Hope you enjoy! Leave a comment! Don't download and keep the videos, y'all! Or else :) ! But not really... 
> 
> Unless?

365 days have passed. One year, spent watching the stupid antics of two men on YouTube. Every day, waking up knowing a video would be waiting.  
So, you indulged. You made memes, edited stupid clips together for comedy's sake and the love of participating in the fun, it was a great time. But, you indulged too much. 365 days and 1 minute... 2 minutes... 3 and counting... You sit at your desk, staring at your collection. A blog full of memories, who wouldn't want to keep them? It runs through your mind, 'What if?' It wouldn't be hard to just private it all and hoard it for yourself. A year of laughs later, yet you consider breaking the promise- the entire premise of the channel. 5 minutes turn to 6, then 6 minutes turn to 30, turns to an hour. It's all still there. You couldn't bring yourself to click that damned delete button.  
Is it really, _really_ that big of a deal? It's not like anyone will know, right? Just don't tell anyone, besides maybe your friends...  
You step away and power off your computer. The channel has been officially wiped from existence for an hour, and the vacant feeling still reigns heavily on your chest. You'd miss it too much, you decide. It's not a big deal. Fuck it.  
  
Five hours have passed. You've rewatched a few meme compilations, holding onto the hope maybe just a few would stick around. Most were gone in minutes, the ones left behind simply trickling out as their creators found the time to delete them. The day went by normally otherwise. Lunch comes and goes, dinner approaches, night falls early as Autumn settles in. Your house darkens with the time and you flick a lamp on, settling on your couch to flip through television and occupy your time waiting for dinner to cook in the oven. The room fell silent par from random actors only able to get a few words out before you flipped the channel again. The house creaks and settles, the usual small eerie noises wood makes against the bustling, cool winds. It's easy to ignore. Albeit, the feeling of being watched hangs on the back of your neck, making your hairs stand on end. ' _It's nothing,_ ' You think to yourself, ' _Just random paranoia. It always is._ '  
  
You make your way to the kitchen, blocking out the thoughts as best you could. You placed your meal on the stovetop, stinging your fingertips on the hot metal a bit and wincing. Mild annoyance washes over you, and you go to find a knife, opening the drawer, and...  
They were gone.  
Every single one.  
Every single knife had been taken from the utensil drawer. No matter butter knife or box cutter, all that's left was the little dust collected at the bottom of the drawer. Even the fucking forks were gone.  
You look up, none left in the knife block either. You take a step back, settling in the middle of the room to collect your consciousness from the curveball the universe just threw at you. There were knives here before, right? _Of fucking course there were_ , why wouldn't they be? How did every single knife just... disappear? How did you possibly not notice this when you walked in? Maybe knives just never existed and it was an elaborate fever dream your brain created to fuck with you your whole life, and this entire time you've just been cutting apples with a spork. Maybe you're getting ahead of yourself. People always jump to logic in these situations, so there must be a logical explanation. They... exploded, maybe. Really quietly. Or they just... got up and walked away, like a cute little animated knife army marching to the sea. You knew these weren't true, you were just trying to avoid the obvious.  
  
You looked around yourself, concluding silently: Someone took them. Someone took your defenses so you'd be helpless. Evidently, they went somewhere with someone. The question of ' _Who?_ ' shook you to your core, and the feeling of being watched rushed over you again. Along with, ' _Why?_ ' and maybe even, chillingly, ' _What?_ ' In a second your anxiety was quickly rising, and instinct told you to run and find anything to slash or hit whatever may come after you with. You bolted around the house, turning on lights as you went around checking every drawer, every corner behind every piece of furniture, below every table, and on top of every shelf. Not a single object of destruction was left behind, not even limited to kitchen objects. Tools, bats, toxic sprays, bottle openers, any and every means of self-defense were suddenly gone. Everything. How the ** _fuck?_**  
  
Then suddenly, everything goes dark. The power at least, that is, cuts entirely and leaves the lights humming softly. You stand silently, wide-eyed and entirely unmoving— a deer stuck in blood-red headlights fully aware of the unwavering fate that inevitably awaits you. The paranoia digs into the core of your being as your senses heighten. The ceiling fan above you slows steadily, plunging the house into pure silence. You stand and listen, hoping and praying whatever was coming for you would make a noise. You didn't want to stand there forever, no... but the idea of moving and confronting absolutely anything in the pitch black...  
  
A surefire 'Fuck it!' has you quickly and quietly tiptoeing up to the door of your bedroom, putting your back against the wall next to it like you always saw in video games, and peering around the corners like watching for traffic. Two options now: Stay and stand your ground, meaning possibly having to fight off an intruder with your nightstand in hand... or make a break for it and go get help. Staying puts your life at risk, but sprinting to the other side of the house and just hoping no one stops you in the middle isn't much better. You weigh your options. There hasn't been a peep since the power went out, you note. Whether that was a good or bad sign, you weren't sure... but you still didn't feel safe. The least you could do is run, for God's sake! If fighting is most definitely out of the question, why not make a break for it?  
  
It wasn't the most solid plan, maybe it was just your hubris boiling over, but your fight or flight response was getting hard to ignore as it made every nerve in your body buzz with anxiety. So, you dipped around the doorway and bounded down the hall. Victory was in your grasp, figuratively and literally, as you reached for the door handle mere feet away...  
  
Then, something tripped you. The force sent you into the door face first, a nasty crack echoed through your skull, and your vision cut momentarily as your brain tried to catch up from the whiplash. It was difficult to tell when it came back, and if not for the figure dressed fully in white you noticed towering over you as you moved your face from the solid wood and laid on your side on the floor, you may have considered yourself blind. It was an enigma against pure black, the fact of it standing off to the right of where you lay only making you realize it wasn't alone. There was another figure, about the same height, dressed in all black directly to the left. The two stood menacingly over you, unmoving, staring. You touched your face as you felt liquid drip down your lip. You had a bloody nose, and no doubt a comically sized bump on your forehead from the impact. You had only a second to think about it before the black figure's foot collided with your stomach, causing you to curl in on yourself on the floor. The other took the opportunity to crush your hand under its shoe. You could barely hear yourself cry out, and you worried there was blood collecting in your ears. Momentary calm was all it took for everything to finally click in your mind. Two figures, one black and one white, two people who had spent the past year making what you assumed were nothing but empty, joking threats to those who kept the videos past their due date. You hadn't realized you'd stopped breathing until there was a swift kick to your chest, winding you further and sending you impossibly further into the door, making the back of your head collide with it again.  
  
"Please..." You beg helplessly. The one in white, the one you devised as Annus, chuckles lowly. You can't see either of their faces, but you know Unus is grinning maniacally with him. One of those smiles you don't have to see to feel in the air.  
"Inevitably, we knew within the crowds... someone would pick their own selfish desires over our simple request," Annus spoke slowly, calculated and well-thought. A quick glance to the left tells you Unus is holding something. It scares you and you move to sit up, deflecting another kick with your forearm and sending Annus stumbling backward into a wall near him. Dread set in, like when you've said an answer with all the confidence you could muster but made nothing but a fool of yourself in front of the entire class, but undeniably worse. More like taunting the murderer holding a gun to your head. You were hoisted up by the collar of your shirt, the hems of the sleeves catching under your armpits and digging mercilessly into your skin as you were slammed against the door. The plastic hook usually meant for cute holiday decorations cut into your spine.  
  
"Are you pleased with yourself? You had plenty of time... we made sure of it." Annus continued, and if words were daggers his would be dripping with blood. His eyes hurt to look at, but like a car crash, you couldn't look away. You'd lost track of Unus. Everything fucking hurts. " _Did you forget?_ " You know he knows the answer.  
"Time is always ticking." A voice came from beside you before you could answer Annus' question, causing you to jolt. It was no wonder the sneaky one wore black. He was much harder to keep an eye on. You nodded in response, quick and sharp.  
"I'm sorry!" You plead, "I'll delete them, I promise, please! I- I wasn't thinking, I-"  
"That's enough of that, now," Annus says coldly, with that calm only a killer could have.  
You stared in silence at him, all besides your heavy breathing and the sound of blood rushing past your eardrums. You swore they could hear your heartbeat, and it only served to encourage.  
  
You felt a pinch in your side, evidently numbed by pure adrenaline but not enough to stop the hoarse cry ripping from your chest. Unus had planted your own kitchen knife into your gut, whispering to you.  
"Memento Mori, my friend. Unus Annus." He punctuated the sentence with a flick of his wrist, turning the knife sharply and causing your knees to buckle. Blood loss. You wanted to scream for help but couldn't as blood filled your stomach and gushed up into your throat, gagging you from the inside. One quick motion and it was planted in you again, centimeters away from the first, only there to make sure you never stood a chance. At some point you were dropped, you don't know when, and the knife clattered near your feet. You couldn't even muster the strength to grab at your throat as you suffocated on that which kept you alive minutes ago, and all through your life.  
  
The last thing you see as you close your eyes and succumb to your fate, is an ominous spiral. It was hard to make out at first, but the slow _tick... tick... tick..._ becoming louder and louder in what was left of your mind's palace, forgotten and sent crumbling to ashes. It came over you like a rushing sea, causing you to be able to think of nothing else in your last waking moments but those sinister last words.  
  
**Memento Mori.**  
  
**Unus Annus.**


End file.
